The Four Books Read Online Free PDF Page A

these, and take them all to my house. I can burn them in the winter to keep warm.”
    Everyone carried the books to the Child’s house.
    Each time they brought a stack, the Child would select one of the volumes and hold it up, then he would clear his throat and ask, “Whose was this? Tell me, if our ninety-ninth were to produce six hundred jin per mu , would that count as a lot?”
    He lifted another, and said, “Our production target of six hundred jin —is that a lot?”
    He lifted yet another, and said, “Are you willing to go work the fields?”
    He lifted a cloth-bound volume, and said, “This book is unimaginably reactionary. Tell me, can a mu of land produce six hundred jin of grain?”
    By midday, the Child had examined every book in the pile, and finished asking his questions. At that point the people took their plows and drills, and went out to plow the fields.

C HAPTER 2
    Re-Ed District
    1. Old Course , pp. 1–2
    I started to write, like a boat floating down a river.
    I had pen, paper, and ink. My manuscript was titled Criminal Records by the higher-ups, who asked me to record every detail pertaining to the criminals residing in the ninety-ninth. I dreamed that one day I might write another book, but it would be a very different kind of book. The instant I accepted the pen, ink, and paper that the Child gave me, my hands began to tremble. I was already over fifty years old, and in addition to five novels, more than twenty novellas, and several hundred short stories, I had also published several essay collections. My fiction had been translated into English, Russian, German, French, and Italian, as well as Korean and Vietnamese. Movies adapted from my novels had become household names, and won prizes at international film festivals. Before the nation’s higher-ups went abroad, they would often ask me to sign copies of my most famous novels, which they would then use as gifts when meeting with foreign presidents and heads of state. And precisely because I enjoyed such acclaim, when our writers’ work unit failed to meet its production quota, I convened a meeting of all the prominent authors and critics in the entire province. The meeting began at eight in the morning, and by noon it still showed no signs of concluding. The task of picking a reactionary figure to send to Re-Ed was even more difficult than electing a president in some countries. After three straight days of voting, the authors and critics were as frustrated as a torrential downpour. On the third day, it was already an hour past the time to break for lunch, and everyone was famished, their lips parched and their mouths dry. At this point, they finally called on me and said, “You are a prominent author and the director of the Writers’ Association, so whomever you designate as a reactionary must be one. Say a name, and we’ll all raise our hands in agreement.”
    I was keenly aware that we were in a state of political turmoil, and naturally couldn’t name just anyone.
    Instead, I gave everyone a sheet of paper and proposed that we have an anonymous ballot. I had everyone write the name of whomever they regarded as a reactionary figure. I even diplomatically suggested, “If you’re afraid that your handwriting might be recognized, you can simply imitate someone else’s, write with your left hand, or even write with your eyes closed. In any event, using unrecognizable handwriting, please write down the name of whomever you believe to be a reactionary and pass it to me.”
    Everyone used this uniquely democratic method and wrote down a name, and the person whose name appeared most often would be selected. In the end, however, it turned out that it was my own name that appeared on virtually every ballot.
    I was selected in a landslide.
    As a result, I wrote a certain political leader a letter, detailing my publications, my artistic accomplishments, and my loyalty to the nation. I hoped that the authorities in the capital would be able to